Crisis in the Old Kingdom
by TonyJC
Summary: The Imperial Legion has been sent to the Imperial Province of Skyrim to restore order under the command of General Tullius after Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Nord insurrection in the province, murdered High King Torryg. A legionnaire by the name of Arvas will return to his homeland and help unravel the Prophesy of the Dragonborn.
1. Chapter 1 - Helgen

**Chapter 2 - Dragon**

A long roar came from behind the tower and it startled him, as it was too close than he'd thought before. The sentry disappeared out of view, probably returning to his position, but just as sudden as the roar, the top of the tower was bathed in flames. As it happened, something glided past it, a black shape that didn't resemble anything Arvas had ever know. It flew out of view, past the entire courtyard with a frightening speed before the walls obscured it.

"Secure the prisoners," ordered General Tullius, "get the villagers to safety!" The legionaries scrambled, and the archers on top of the wall began to run towards the village. "Get the battlemages out here!" he ordered next, before turning to Arvas.

"You!" the general yelled, pointing at him, "Make sure the Jarl doesn't escape. Cut his throat if you have to!"

"Yes, sir!" Arvas replied, fist hitting his chest as General Tullius mounted his horse and unsheathed his sword. His guard did the same, mounting their red-draped horses to join the general as he raced towards the courtyard's gate to the village. Arvas turned and ran towards the captain at the block. Her heel was pressed firmly onto the Jarl's back, surely leaving a mark, but that wasn't on his mind right now, as he saw that the rebel leader still had his head in between his shoulders. The captain looked at him, and he nodded.

She turned towards the Headsman and shouted, "Cut him, now!" Arvas watched in anticipation as he lifted his axe above his head, just before an abrupt darkness settled over them. Bricks felled just beside the keep's entrance, and Arvas looked up, where the sentries had been incinerated, and stared. It was a large, winged creature that was perched at the top of the tower, with black scales, jagged horns, and blood-red eyes that stared them down, as if it was its right to do so.

It opened its maw and Arvas tried to protect himself with his shield, but he knew it was futile. As he closed his eyes and expected searing heat, a deafening thunder came, and something remarkably powerful pushed against his shield. It had been strong enough that his feet lost the ground and he was flung away, momentarily feeling weightlessness while his ears ringed something fierce. For a moment, he thought he'd died, but reality came crashing down onto him as his back hit the flagstones and he gave a cry of pain. He felt himself slide across the ground before rolling, losing his breath. He coughed, disoriented by the lack of sight and sound, his eyes pressed shut before he slowly opened them and stared at the sky, too stunned to move.

As he looked upwards to the sky, he saw the _dragon_ fly away from the tower and shout a thunder into the clouds that began to swirl and turn into a haze of grey and red. From the center of the vortex, trailing balls of flame began to fall towards the fort, and the black shape of the dragon resurfaced from the hells themselves to continue its destruction. Arvas groaned once again, and pushed himself up with his elbows into a sitting position. Shouts, cries and thunders assaulted his ears as he looked towards the keep and the walls, seeing the columns of black smoke that were beginning to rise.

He heard the sound of multiple footsteps hitting flagstone, and Arvas looked downwards and towards the keep's entrance. A dozen or so battlemages in their armored brown cloaks were running out of the keep and onto the fray that was the middle of the courtyard and the walls. But Arvas saw something that made his shoulders go cold, as he found the dead legionaries that littered the ground with some prisoners, his task, the Jarl that was supposed to be at the block, was gone. In his stead lay the mangled corpses of the Headsman and Captain Scinon, both crushed to death by _something_.

Arvas stood up, wincing as pain found purchase in his left leg and lower back, but he soldiered on towards the wall that was closest to him to the right. He'd been flung from the bloody block in front of the keep's entrance to the ground near gate at the corner of the courtyard. He held his shield tight as he tried to protect himself from the falling flaming debris that struck the ground with such a speed that didn't seem normal at all, to the point that it left craters in their wake. Just then he realized he was looking at the scene through his shield, as the wood had been shattered with the steel frame almost left intact. He also didn't feel the weight on his head, and he soon also realized that he'd lost his helmet again.

Once more a shadow covered the courtyard, and the black dragon swooped in onto the ground. Men yelled as it landed, crushed by the beast that knew no mercy, and Arvas stumbled backwards onto the wall. Balls of flame from the mages struck the creature to no avail, and the arrows with their broadhead tips along with the javelins from the foot soldiers merely bounced off its scales, but there was something Arvas hadn't seen that did not work. He unsheathed his sword and dropped the useless shield, and charged. He was coming up on the dragon's rear, hoping to surprise it as it held a screaming battlemage in its maw, and struck its spiked hind-leg.

But the blade bounced off, and did nothing but alert the beast to his presence. It swung its tail, catching Arvas by surprise as he was struck to the side and left rolling onto the hard paved ground. He coughed once again, wheezing from the impact as he shakily got on his knees and planted a palm onto his left ribs. A rush of wind blew against him, and the dragon roared as it took off from the ground, not giving the men another chance at striking it. Arvas watched it, seething and cursing it as it burned and killed in its path. Every time he heard it roar, he could not help but imagine it burning the soldiers in the streets and the villagers in their homes, and so he closed his eyes to shake the images away. Not soon after, a horn blared twice in the distance, followed by a pause and then a third. _Retreat._

A meteor struck the ground before him and he scrambled towards the wall, seeking shelter from the hell in the sky. The surviving soldiers and mages that were left in the courtyard began to retreat into the keep, and Arvas tried to do the same. But pain flared in his leg which made him stumble, and fall onto the ground, with only his arms saving him from smashing his head onto a piece of rubble. He heard someone approach him from behind, and suddenly his arm was taken and placed onto an armored shoulder, supporting Arvas as he was taken away. He groaned and limped as far and fast as he could, momentarily closing his eyes as the destruction around him was became too much to bear.

It seemed to have been an eternity, when everything was suddenly shut, or rather, muffled, as the brightness under his eyelids dimmed. He groaned again as he was taken deeper and he was seated on a whining chair. "I need a healer!" Arvas heard, a familiar voice which made him open his eyes. Hadvar was crouched beside him, dirty with soot and ash, as his helmet was missing. Another man, a battlemage, approached them and inspected him.

"Ribs and leg!" Arvas gasped out when the mage pressed his side with a hand, feeling an intense spike of pain. They could've been on the verge of being broken, but soon enough brightness appeared from the mage's hands and Arvas sighed as warmness filled him, relieving the pain. He'd grown to appreciate mages when they could turn life-threatening injuries and wounds into manageable ones, but there weren't that many to go around in the legions. A deep rumble came, and the dragon roared outside, bringing Arvas back to the present.

"Shut the gate!" Someone yelled, as more soldiers poured in from the courtyard and a thunder started outside. Flames ripped through a trio of men just as they crossed the gap between the closing the doors. Arvas could only watch as the Restoration spell held him down while Hadvar helped the others barricade the gate with a large and thick wooden plank. The burning men made it inside were screaming, flailing their arms and dropping onto the floor as the fires roared about them. Some of the soldiers started to suffocate them with rags, capes and furs, and Arvas cursed the fact that he was stuck.

The smell of burned skin filled the room, further souring their situation. Not soon after, a tremor rocked the keep, and the dragon kept roaring outside. Arvas looked upwards towards the arched ceiling, seeing the dust fall and fearing that the creature might bring the keep down on them.

"We have to leave," He heard Hadvar say, turning to the other legionaries huddled nearby, "General Tullius gave the order to retreat."

"And how in Oblivion can we do that?!" one of the legionaries near the reinforced door asked.

"There are emergency tunnels below the fort." A second mage spoke as he attended the burned man, and Arvas noticed that from the near dozen that battled the dragon, only two survived. "We can evacuate through them, but I can't guarantee that they're safe."

"We'll have to take it." Hadvar spoke, before another muffled roar appeared and a smaller tremor was felt, enough to once again shake the dust and grains from the ceiling. Arvas looked around, counting the men they had available to make their way through these tunnels the mage had mentioned. Some of them were wounded, burned so that their skin was either reddened, or with a black crust. They were being tended to by the second battlemage, but Arvas knew they were hardly healers. The extent of those wounds were far too grave to be able to heal by magic in a short amount of time, and he thanked Akatosh to the fact that the worst he'd get was harsh bruising and broken but mended ribs.

The light stopped shining from the mages hands, and Arvas brought a hand up to prod his ribs, feeling only a slight discomfort. He breathed deep, before he stood and put pressure on his leg, not feeling any of the pain he felt earlier outside. "I'm good to go, but what about them?" He spoke, nodding towards the wounded that had been set down near the entrance.

"I'll help where I can, but my abilities in Restoration can only go so far." The mage that tended him spoke, dreadfully confirming Arvas's suspicions.

"See what you can do, and tell your friend we'll need him ahead." When he finished, Arvas walked over to huddled legionaries. They were two dozen strong at best, if one counted the walking wounded, and Arvas feared the fate of those that fought the dragon. General Tullius had a small mobile force of two hundred and forty horsemen, which augmented the garrison in the fort which numbered close to a hundred and fifty. He can only hope that they managed to escape the beast and flee into the woods.

"Do you think the prisoners escaped?" A Breton legionary asked with a shaking tone.

"I don't think so. I hope the dragon took them to Oblivion." Another legionary, this one an Imperial, said.

"I have a plan." Arvas cut in, catching the attention of the legionaries. He didn't exactly have a plan, and he hadn't asked the others for any opinions, but he was still going for it nonetheless. "We'll go through these tunnels and I'm going to need able-bodied men to be the vanguard. Those that are injured will carry with the wounded and protect them."

"Are we expecting trouble down there?" the Imperial asked, and Hadvar came up from Arvas's side.

"We don't know if the tunnels are safe, but it's a whole lot better than going out there now." He said, and to make Hadvar's point clearer, the ground and keep shook, with the dragon's roar muffled by the stone.

"This way." Arvas heard behind him, making him turn to watch as the mage delved deeper into the keep. He followed, walking behind the robed man when they arrived at a wooden door in the main hall. "This door leads downstairs and into the dungeons. We'll find the tunnel there."

"Right, I'll tell the others. Hopefully there are others down there that can help us."

"Carolus will, although he isn't the kind of person that will be enthusiastic about it."

"Well, he can walk out and nicely ask the dragon to let us leave through the fort's main gate then." Arvas responded as he left the mage, turning towards the men that were being prepared for combat. He nodded towards them, who responded in turn, and then a distant roar could be heard outside. The men unsheathed their swords and replaced their helmets on their heads, which made Arvas remember something. He'd lost his sword.

That's when he noticed the weapon racks at the walls, bereft of any weaponry. Swords, spears, javelins and some of the shields were gone, which was strange, as the keep always kept a reserve in case the garrison needed to conscript the villagers or resupply passing legions. It was by luck that he'd found a sword that hadn't been taken, and once he had picked a shield, he set out with the others to rejoin the mage.

They regrouped in front of the door, where the mage opened the door, revealing a flight of stairs that led downwards. He went in first, while Arvas and the rest followed behind him closely. As they treaded down the flight of stairs, and Arvas could see the damage in the ceiling above. The keep cannot hold, and he could hear the dragon tearing its way into the castle. The steps soon ended in a ruined hallway that continued onwards to a dead end with a door. The arched ceiling had collapsed in a few places, leaving rubble, rock and dirt in the ground beneath it. They followed the mage, passing by doorways that looked like storage rooms meant for a siege, until they'd reached the wooden door at the end of the hallway.

The battlemage strode ahead towards it. "This is the way to the dungeons, Carolus will…" he stopped, before continuing, "The lock's broken."

Arvas approached and indeed someone had hacked their way in. He looked once at the mage, and then at the others, before crouching and peering through the splintered wood. There, on the stone floor, were the corpses of two Imperials that lay on a pool of their own blood. Arvas stood and backed away, realization dawning on him. _The prisoners escaped through the keep!_

"I have two dead Imperials inside." He announced in a hushed tone, turning towards them signaling them to form up to breach. Thankfully, every legionary in the Empire received similar training drills, as the men that were part of both the garrison and General Tullius's force positioned themselves in a file with shields and swords at the ready. Arvas stood as the first one in the file, ready to breach, where he nodded towards the mage. The robed man pushed open the door before kicking stepping out of the way as they charged in.

They were waiting for them on the other side. The men and women that hugged the walls shouted battle cries as they charged towards them while the legionaries repositioned to create a defensive line around the entrance, according to their training. His shield was kicked, forcing him to kneel before bashing forward and stabbed the offending Nord in the gut, but another took his place, forcing him to get back to the line.

The men shouted and traded blows, and soon enough, the traitors started to rout against the disciplined men of the Legion. Arvas saw as they broke off and retreated into the doorway that led to the dungeons, an escape for them and a dead end for the Stormcloaks. This was their moment, he couldn't let them get away.

"Advance, find Ulfric!" he ordered, rushing ahead towards the dungeons. He heard the footsteps of the men behind him, encouraging his bold move as he passed the doorway and entered the dark hallway. The hallway contained cells on each side and it ended about a yard away, opening up to another room where he heard metal clattering on the ground. He walked then, looking back once to ensure that the men were still with him, but as soon as he neared the end of the hallway, he heard more battle cries.

Battle cries from the cells.

"Ambush!" Someone yelled, and Arvas witnessed the Stormcloaks appearing from the shadows of the cells and striking their thin line from both sides. A Nord, bigger than anyone he'd ever seen, appeared from one of the cells closest to him with a battle axe that swung to the side. His shield barely caught the blow as he staggered backwards and his back struck the wall. The Nord was preparing himself for another swing, when a blade pierced his side and the thickly bearded man kneeled as he howled in pain. Arvas quickly kicked himself off the wall and pierced the man's throat with the tip of his blade, causing a rush of blood to pour out of the Nord's mouth.

He extracted his sword, leaving the Nord to slump on the ground and bleed, before Arvas nodded to the man who saved him, who just happened to be Hadvar. He clasped his shoulder as he turned towards the others, but they'd been cut off. He stepped forward, hoping to surprise the Stormcloaks and attack their backs, but three of them had turned to face him and Hadvar. Just above their heads he could see his own men retreating with shouts and cries, driving him into despair.

"What-do-we-do?" Hadvar asked quickly, and Arvas paused for a moment, but he couldn't decide on anything when the three rebels charged ahead. He himself yelled, blocking one's strike with his shield before he deftly used the hilt of his sword to give a blow on the man's face, sending him backwards with a stagger. Another one, a woman, tried to pry his shield off while yelling obscenities at him, but Arvas merely pushed his shield forward and sent the woman sprawling on the stone floor, which left him with the man he'd punched earlier. He was attempting a high strike with his sword, which was blocked by a parry and Arvas used the open opportunity to slice his throat with a broad stroke.

The woman had carried herself away towards the others, leaving Arvas to deal with Hadvar's assailant, but it wasn't necessary as the rebel lay dead on the floor. He turned back towards the others, who'd in turn faced them. They had no chance to regroup with the others, which left him one choice.

"Fall back." Arvas said in-between frantic breaths, slowly stepping back as he held his battered shield and bloodied sword at the ready. Hadvar did the same, and as soon as they made it past the doorway and into a wide hallway, he shut the iron gate. The six men plus the woman charged, leaving Arvas to scramble for the slim plank that lay idle in a wall to bar the door against them. It seemed to have been made specifically for that purpose, as the metal hooks that protruded from the gate held the plank in place and stopped the Nords from bashing open the gate.

"There!" Hadvar shouted, and Arvas turned to see the far wall that had collapsed, revealing a passageway into a cave. "That must be the escape route the mage mentioned, let's go!"

Arvas stood for a moment, conflicted at the prospect of abandoning the men he'd briefly led, but as the Stormcloaks bashed and hacked at the wooden plank, he'd had no choice but follow Hadvar towards the cave. Shame and defeat followed in his wake.


	2. Chapter 2 - Soot and Ashes

This story is an attempt at improving my writing through practice. I do not know if I'll finish it or stop it along the way, but I'll see about updating whenever I can and if writing it is still fun and challenging. To keep things interesting, I'm changing certain things about Skyrim like the settlement sizes, characters, events, etc. Just to make it appear real-ish. This story will follow the main quest and the civil war. If everything goes crazy, then maybe I'll add in the Dragonborn DLC and somehow Dawnguard.

Please please please please please please and a billion pleases, critic my work. Although writing is a hobby of mine, I want to do it right. Hope you like the first chapter.

 **Chapter 1 - Helgen**

The carriages and wagons squeaked and rumbled past the horse-mounted soldiers as they made their way through the mountain-side forest. Had someone told him that his first assignment on his homeland would've been the one to end the now short-lived civil war, he would've balked at the idea. But now, as he looked to his right and watched the carriages full of Stormcloak prisoners in binds and shackles, he held no doubt. It had been chance that they were alerted to rebel movement near the southern border cross by Imperial scouts, and with them lay the cause of this war that ravaged the land for the past few months.

Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm, was in the second carriage of the column. There he lay, with his gag still in place and his wrists in chains, a pitiful reminder of the ambush that tore through his small rebel force in the dead of night. General Tullius, the military governor of Skyrim, had led the attack himself, and surely enough, the small rebel force was shattered and the Jarl surrender without much of a fight. It was strange, as the man had been deemed the greatest threat of the lot and General Tullius had ordered to bring him down before he could use his voice to _shout_ at them. His eyes focused on the gag still held in place, and remembered the stories about how Ulfric had used this magic to kill High King Torygg with his voice. A _Shout_ , the Nords called it.

"Arvas, are you alright?" he heard, and Arvas Vitelius swung his head around to see Hadvar alongside him on his own horse. Hadvar, like him, wore a brigandine leather tunic with a pair of mail flaps that covered the shoulders. A steel helmet with cheek coverings covered his head and his shield was the same as his, a light kite shield mostly made out of wood with a steel frame.

"They said he could kill with his voice." Arvas responded, looking over at the defeated Jarl once again. _What's stopping him from simply shouting away the gag?_

"Aye, terrible thing. Trained by the Grey Beards themselves, only for him to use it for violence." With that, Arvas looked over at Hadvar with a raised eyebrow.

"So it isn't a weapon?"

"If the Grey Beards use it peacefully, then it doesn't have to be. I honestly don't know." Hadvar responded, and Arvas snorted, then sighed as he slid his hand under the cheek guard and scratched at his stubble. He'd heard of the Grey Beards' magic; it apparently made their voices so powerful that they chose to be mute, and used this power to meditate, or something close to that. Anyone he'd asked back in Bruma didn't know much about the reclusive men that live in the mountains.

"No, this can't be happening, this isn't happening!" Arvas overheard and he looked over at the carriage where the Jarl sat. There, along with the Jarl and other Stormcloak soldiers, was the thief they'd caught in their raid, with a face that clearly spoke of panic. He must've figured out his fate, and Arvas almost felt pity for him.

"The Empire is law. The law is sacred." He muttered the Imperial axiom, not needing a reminder of the punishment for rebellion against the Empire. Although the thief did not partake in any battle under the banner of the Stormcloaks, he was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Maybe we shouldn't have had taken him in with the rest." Hadvar said, and Arvas took a glance at him with a raised brow.

"A thief's a thief, difference is he's losing his head instead of his fingers." It was a cruel thing, Arvas knew that, but circumstances or perhaps the gods themselves did not favor the man.

"Make way!" he heard someone shout, and Arvas rode his horse to the side along with Hadvar and other horsemen, taking them off of the cobbled road and into the dirt of the woods. Just then, a trio of horsemen rode past in a hurry, and Arvas immediately recognized them. General Tullius along with two Imperial Guard escorts raced through the line until they'd reached the front-end of the column. Turning back on to the road, Arvas got a clear view of the reason the General had done so.

"We're here." He said, looking over at Hadvar.

"Thank the Divines." He said, before Arvas looked onwards, and saw that they were coming out of the forest and into the clear-cut fields of Helgen. Small farms and pastures surrounded the fort and the road ahead led straight into the stone walls of the fort. Imperial banners bearing the sigil of the Empire, were draped over the sides of the square towers that flanked the entrance, and it depicted Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, soaring through a red sky. The reinforced wooden gate opened to welcome them, or rather, General Tullius, who immediately went inside despite the column still being in the fields.

"I guess we're not the only ones who miss sleeping in a warm bed." Hadvar joked, and Arvas gave a throaty laugh.

"Don't we all?" he responded, and he noticed that they were more than two acres away from the walls, which meant that he had time to kill. Arvas looked to his left, past Hadvar, and observed the small farms containing yields and gardens of vegetables, barley, and tubers being tended to by farmhands. To the right, he had the chance to see a large pasture containing livestock through the space in between the prisoner wagons. Beyond them lay a breath-taking view of the province of Skyrim as the terrain sloped downwards and revealed the valley created by another mountain range further away.

"Planning to retire this soon?" Hadvar asked suddenly, and Arvas sighed with a smile as he turned to face him.

"No, not yet. Probably after there's no more fight left in me."

"Spoken like a true Nord."

Arvas's smile grew as he looked over at his pale arm. Although his father had been an Imperial native to Cyrodiil, his mother had been a Nord, and it showed. His uncle told him he had his father's face and hair, but the stature, skin, and the eyes of his mother. He couldn't really know for himself, as he'd never met them.

"It shows, doesn't it? But I reckon I can still hold a sword well for twenty more winters." he said, looking upwards and towards the battlements to see the archers of the Imperial garrison with bow and arrow on hand as they watched over the column. They weren't taking any chances that might prolong the war any further.

"Don't sell yourself short, you're not that much older than me and there are men that can still fight like beasts after sixty."

Arvas gave a half-laugh, "You're joking?"

"Nothing constant practice can't solve, I hear." Hadvar said before the first carriage finally reached the gate. Here the road became considerably more stony, mud below the flagstones being replaced by gravel and immediately his horse began to walk faster as it became confident in its steps. A good change of pace, as the march north towards the fort they were now entering had been grueling, with neglected roads, fallen trees and the odd creature here and there. Just as they began to pass through the gate and the short tunnel, Arvas spotted General Tullius and his escort at the village's crossroad, still mounted on their horses and in front of a group of robed figures that were also on horseback. The intricate markings and finery in the robes left him no doubt who they were. Thalmor.

"What are they doing here?" he asked as he looked over at Hadvar, but his eyes got sidetracked as a crowd of villagers caught his attention. They were slowly pilling out of the wooden buildings and onto the street. And then the shouts came, some insults, others cursing them for the war the rebels had wrought. Just as it happened, the horsemen from the column began to dismount and formed up to create a thin line along the street to deter the crowd from wanting to beat the rebels.

"Hold positions around the prisoners." Arvas ordered to the horsemen assigned to him. Normally, he should've been in there to hold the citizens back, but he'd been part of the group tasked by the general himself to escort the wagons, and interesting enough, he was chosen to lead the group.

As they made their way down the street, he looked at Helgen's keep. It was large, with its own set of stone walls that provided a last line of defense if the outer walls fell. Its wide round tower provided a full view of the entire fort and even the fields outside walls, and he could see the sentries posted at the top watching for any signs of a rebel force that might've gone undetected to try and rescue their leader. Just like the gate, the tower was also draped in Imperial banners for all to see.

The stone-paved roads inside the walls were well-maintained and not neglected like the one they'd gone through in the mountains, and the houses along both sets of walls were well built with minimal signs of decay. One couldn't clearly know if Helgen was either still a fort or a proper village. Imperial maps still listed it as a fort, but the fields outside the walls and the people shouting obscenities at the rebels said otherwise. Of course, maintaining the fort was the livelihood of these people, which made them wholly Imperial in allegiance, even if they were Nords. Arvas was sure some of them even worship Talos.

But the people of Skyrim were a divided. The Nords are a proud people, giving value to their own traditions and customs, not to mention autonomy and self-determination. Humiliation followed as the White-Gold Concordant was put into effect and the banning of the worship of Talos had shaken the society in Empire as a whole, especially the Nords. This led to the rebellion that had started some months ago, with the death of Skyrim's High King and half of the holds in the province declaring to be part of the Stormcloaks. It was because of this that General Tullius had been given four legions to restore order in Skyrim and bring the traitors to bear the full extent of Imperial law.

Just as they were reaching the next set of gates to the keep's courtyard, General Tullius and his escort returned, this time on the other side of the column. "General Tullius, sir!" a steel-clad Imperial soldier posted beside the open gate called, "The Headsman is waiting!"

"Good, let's get this over with!" the general said before heading into the courtyard, and Arvas couldn't help but hear the prayers coming from the second carriage. Sure enough, it was the thief. They stopped before the gate, as it was too narrow for both the horses and the carriages to pass through at the same time, and Arvas spent the time watching the soldiers, now augmented by the better armored men of the garrison, keeping the villagers at bay. As the last of the wagons began to pass through, the crowd began to disperse and the soldiers began to regroup and form up. Arvas and his group began to pass through the gate, following the last wagon, and entered the spacious courtyard of Helgen's keep.

General Tullius, a stern-faced man with short grey hair, met him at the other side, surprising Arvas.

"Count them in and make it quick." He ordered, before he gestured towards the keep's entrance, where a steel clad Centurion was talking to the Headsman. "Captain Scinon will accompany you."

"Yes sir, general." Arvas responded with a salute, a fist from his right hand bumping his left breast, and nodded towards Hadvar. "Got the list ready?"

"I do." he said, tapping the small book on his pouch that was slung from his shoulder.

"Good." Arvas responded, tapping his horse once to move it forward with Hadvar in tow. As they continued on towards the wagons and out of earshot from the general, he continued, "Hope no one's escaped. Otherwise I'm dead."

"Always the nervous one." He heard Hadvar remark, and he let it drop.

The carriages stopped in front of the far wall and the prisoners were being dismounted by the steel armored soldiers from the garrison. The Centurion was with them, the dragon-shaped crest on her helmet making it distinct enough to notice who was in charge. General Tullius's own lightly armored troops were now dismounted and positioned near the walls and gates to oversee the proceedings and to deter any prisoner from making an attempt, while Arvas and Hadvar dismounted their horses and joined the Centurion who was giving out instructions to the prisoners in the form of yelling.

"-after you've been called, you will walk over to the block." She finished as they arrived, and Arvas saw that they might as well be here all day long. They were at least four dozen prisoners, and so he glanced over at the general, his steel muscle cuirass enameled in bronze and ornamented with gilded wings made it easier to single him out from his heavily armored guard. They needed to make this quick.

"You four, come here." He called the horsemen from his group that followed them, "General Tullius needs this done as quick as possible." The men who'd been part of the escort dismounted their horses before Hadvar as he gave them the lists pertaining to the lot of prisoners that lay waiting.

"Right, let's start." Hadvar said, and started to recite the names that he'd written when they had captured them all the night before. It was a way to ensure that all prisoners were accounted for, although there were issues such as the prisoners themselves not being willing to step out when their name was called. As Arvas looked at them, he noticed their disheveled looks. They were stripped of their armor with only a tunic to cover them, and they were still filthy from having to sit in the dirt when they were being tallied up.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Hadvar called, and the gagged, Nord noble stepped out. Unlike the others, the Jarl was allowed to keep his clothes sans his armor, a privilege only granted to generals and nobility. Murmurs erupted from the rebels, most being praises of serving under him. "Ralof… of Riverwood." He said next with hesitation.

"Hadvar, I hadn't know you joined the Legion." One of the Nords, a tall, fair-haired man said as he stepped forward.

"Yeah, well, some of us appreciate Imperial rule." Hadvar responded, and a legionary took the Nord by the shoulder and led him towards the growing group of prisoners in front of the block.

The man sighed, then called once again, "Lokir, of Rorikstead."

"No, no!" the slim man, or rather, the _thief_ , said as he stepped forward, "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" The thief looked at them with wide eyes, and Arvas swore he could see streaks of dirt smudged by tears on his face. He looked at Hadvar for a moment, but that had apparently been enough for the thief. He should've seen it coming and he did not have the time to react properly when he suddenly heard rapid footsteps heading towards him. He raised his shield by instinct, and was knocked back for his trouble as the Nord toppled him. He grunted when his head impacted the paved ground, followed by a rush of cold air on his short hair.

"Halt!" Captain Scinon shouted, "Archers!"

Arvas stood on a crouch, and, as he looked up towards the fleeing Nord, an arrow embedded itself on his back, followed by another one that struck on his lower back. The thief gave a cry of pain with his bound hands seemingly reaching for the sky, then fell to the road in a thud. Arvas accepted Hadvar's helping hand before looking back at the thief, then the stone walls. A group of archers were positioned at the top of the wall, and one of them waved at him. He waved back, before turning towards the prisoners.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain taunted, and when no answer came from the remaining Nords, she looked over at Hadvar. "Continue."

"Yes, sir." Hadvar sighed, and Arvas took the time to collect his helmet that still lay on the ground. Once again Hadvar counted the names, this time without issues, and it only took about a minute before they were all in front of the block thanks in effort to the other men Hadvar had given the lists to.

"Good. You two, come with me." The Centurion said as she turned towards General Tullius.

Arvas nodded, and Hadvar followed along. He briefly thanked the Divines for the leather padding inside the helmet before he replaced it back on his head, and then he heard it. A distant roar far off into the south-east that made him look up towards the mountains that peaked above the walls.

"What was that?" Hadvar asked out loud, stopping beside Arvas.

"It's nothing," General Tullius replied, now dismounted and standing with his guards near the block, "continue."

"Yes, General Tullius." The captain replied with a fist on her chest plate, before nodding to a golden-robed priestess. Arvas and the other legionaries hurried to their positions in front of the keep's entrance and stood at attention as the priestess began to speak.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" a Nord spoke up, stepping forward towards the block. This took Arvas by surprise, as the prisoner stopped in front of Captain Scinon and she grabbed him by the shoulder. "Come on! I haven't got all mornin'!" he shouted and Arvas shook his head. The Centurion made him kneel and then placed her foot on the prisoner's back, forcing his chest to the block. "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same?!" he demanded, just before the Headsman, a tall broad-shouldered man wearing a black mask, lifted his long and heavy axe and swung it downwards. The head came off clean, and the side of the block was stained with blood that spurted out of the stump.

The rebels shouted insults at the Imperials and Arvas saw General Tullius between his heavily armored escorts, shaking his head. "Alright, that's enough. Captain, now."

"Yes, General Tullius!" she said before calling, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm!" The man stepped forward, his long fair hair dirty and his garb littered with specks of dirt.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," General Tullius started with braced arms, "the people of Skyrim call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like The Shout to murder his king and usurp his throne." The brows on the Jarl's face furrowed and Arvas barely heard him grunt under the rag. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace **you** destroyed!" the general declared, and the captain grabbed the Jarl's shoulder.

There was another distant roar, this one seemingly nearer, and it made every horse whine and every legionary look up into the skies. Arvas scanned the mountains once again, not sure what to look for, then shook his head. It could've been a distant creature.

"Let's not waste any more time." General Tullius said at last, breaking the silence that the roar had brought.

Captain Scinon kicked at the back of Ulfric's knees, forcing him downwards before placing her foot onto his back. She pushed him onto the block, but the Headsman was still looking upwards to the sky. A horn sounded at the top of the keep's tower, and Arvas sighed. _Looks like they're trying to free their leader. Too late for that._

"Continue!" demanded the captain, and the Headsman snapped back into attention. He lifted his axe, but the roar came back, louder this time, and the horn sounded once more.

"Sentries, what do you see?!" General Tullius demanded in frustration, and Arvas looked up towards the tower.

A soldier peeked over the battlement, a shadow against the brightness of the sky as he screamed, "Dragon!"

 **Update**

Updated parts of the story I wasn't happy with and changed some things around. Changed legionnaires to legionaries as the former is the French rendition of the latter.


	3. Chapter 3 - Onto the Wilderness

**Chapter 3 – Unto the wilderness**

The cave was cold and damp, the only source of lightning being Hadvar's own torch he'd gotten from a flaming brazier the rebels must've lit up when they went about in these caves. They were walking at a brisk pace, almost jogging as they tried to put enough distance between them and the trailing Stormcloaks. He didn't know how long they'd been roaming these tunnels, perhaps an hour, he didn't know, but it was getting to him. He felt his breath short, and the ceiling seemed to close in, trapping him to ensure that he'll never find his way out.

And then there were his men. The men he'd so foolishly led just to be abandoned and slaughtered by the rebels. He could still hear the screams, the Nordic battle cries, and the sound of swords clashing and then meeting flesh. They were cowards. They ran, left them behind when they could've done much more to save them. How much more? Arvas didn't know the answer to that question, and it infuriated him.

"Damn, get down!" Hadvar whispered and Arvas ducked, startled. Hadvar dipped the torch into a puddle of water, extinguishing it.

"What's out there? Rebels?" Arvas asked, slightly nervous due to the ensuing darkness.

"Worse, a damned bear." Hadvar responded, and he didn't believe him. He skirted around him to take a look, and saw that the path opened up to a large chamber, where light poured in and water trickled inside and turned into a small river. True to Hadvar's word, a massive bear slept peacefully by the side, with the stream of light barely illuminating its brown fur. And there he saw it, the exit out of this infernal cave at the corner of the chamber that was the sole source of light.

"Exit's right there, we just have to hope it doesn't wake up." Arvas said, passing by Hadvar and this time taking the lead. Thankfully their armor was lightweight, as it was made for the horse mounted men of the Legion's light cavalry regiments although he preferred the mail and steel plate of the infantry. More safe and protective, even if it was heavier. But now, as he slowly walked towards the light, he was glad he didn't have to contend with the rustling of overlapping plates and joints.

They were half-way through the chamber when voices echoed through the cave, "Those cowards couldn't of have gone far!"

"Get down!" Hadvar whispered and Arvas obeyed, slumping onto the damp stone as the massive bear woke. It huffed and snarled, and Arvas noticed how the other side of the chamber had been dimly lit by what he guessed were torches.

"Shor's bones, get back!" He heard, and he felt more than he heard the growl of the bear. Feet thumbed and nails scratched the stone as it took off after them, roaring, and Arvas noticed how the cave dimmed as the rebels seemed to retreat. This was their chance. He stood up, hastily trotting towards the exit as the sounds of the bear's fight with the rebels echoed through the small cavern. The light blinded him, and so he soldiered on with burning legs and forced breaths as he stepped forward into it.

He collapsed, falling onto his hands and knees as he tried to breathe through the cold air of Skyrim. He felt the grass on his hands, and so he grabbed fistfuls of it as he panted and tried to calm his racing heart. But his friend had other plans, as he suddenly felt Hadvar's hands tugging on his arm.

"Come on, that bear won't hold them off for long!" he yelled, and Arvas could only croak.

"Let me get a breather!" He wasn't used to marching at double speed, and he hated it every time they were ordered to do so. And so they must have been running for such a long time in the caves, that he had no strength when he was forcibly pulled upwards and led deeper into the woods. Thankfully for him, Hadvar collapsed not soon after.

Arvas had fallen face first onto the ground, and he stayed there until he no longer thought his lungs would give out. His legs felt numb, and so he pushed himself off of the ground and flipped onto his back to lay face up. He stared at the pines and the skies beyond them, now noticing the ashes that fell like light snow. The sun was now high in the sky, and so he closed his eyes against the harshness of the light.

They survived. They both survived and it was due to their cowardice while the rest fought to the death. His comrades-at-arms died in that keep. He wanted to scream, break something, go back to the cave and kill those damned short-sighted rebels along with the bear for bringing him this dishonor. But he swallowed it all down, and took a deep, but shaky breath, before opening his eyes. The flakes of ash fell gently, a reminder of the dragon's wrath on what he'd once thought was an impervious fort in the Pale Pass, and the men lost to its fire.

His first assignment in his home province, and it had all been one enormous disaster.

"Where do we go from here?" Arvas asked, moving to a seated position in the grass. He stared at his hands, callous and rough from years of using swords and shields, but also stained with dried blood. He couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning.

"North." Hadvar finally answered, "General Tullius and the others must have survived."

"I seriously doubt that." He responded, remembering the swirling clouds and the stories of the Gates of Oblivion. For all he knew, the crisis had returned, and all around Tamriel these Gates were resurfacing and unleashing nightmares and death onto all.

"You don't know that they're dead, but either way, we must move north." He heard him stand up, and Arvas wasn't keen on standing with his numb legs. They were going to hurt badly tomorrow.

"Right then, where is north?" Arvas asked and he couldn't help but let his voice drip with sarcasm.

He heard Hadvar loudly sigh, and Arvas grimaced. He was taking out it his frustrations on the poor man when all he did was follow his orders. He also had to try and make do with their situation, and so he finally took his eyes off of the ground to look at Hadvar. Arvas watched him look into the skies, and then he pointed in a direction that might as well have been random to him.

"Well, the sun's to the east, and I think it's still morning." Hadvar tried, then continued, "And there's smoke billowing that way, which must be Helgen." Arvas stood, grunting with the effort of his legs lifting him up. They might as well have been dead and limp, but he took every blessing he could get right now, including the fact that Hadvar was many steps ahead of him in orientation.

Although they were in what must be the middle of a pine forest, the smoke was not that hard to spot. One also had to follow the smell, and go in the opposite direction of the burnt wood. Arvas followed Hadvar east, and thanks to Akatosh, they'd found the northern road that led further down the steep mountain, and onto the valley. He did not know whether the denizens of Helgen made it out, and he could only pray that the Dragon had not been thorough in its destruction.

Not soon after, his prayer had been answered.

The denizens of Helgen, now refugees, blocked the road ahead as they bunched in huddles. And there he saw the soldiers of the Imperial Legion mixed in with them, helping tend to the wounded and providing assurances to the grieving populace.

"Thank the Divines." Arvas muttered, relief washing over him like a wave of warmness.

"You two!" Someone called, and Arvas turned to see a Centurion headed their way, except he was one of General Tullius's and not the garrison's. And just like that, he immediately tried, and failed, to quell the images of Captain Scinon's mangled body, and so he focused on the Centurion that was alive and in front of them. He was dirty with soot and his left arm was heavily bandaged, which meant that he had been in the thick of it in Helgen.

"Sir!" They both said and saluted simultaneously.

"Report!" He asked, and they didn't say anything. He glanced at Hadvar, who was also glancing at him with uncertainty, and so Arvas sighed.

"Sir, the keep was lost." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "The prisoners escaped inside along with Ulfric Stormcloak, and they ambushed us when we tried to do the same. For all we know, he's escaped and we're the only survivors."

"Ulfric's escaped, damn." He repeated, looking down and apparently lost in thought, before he himself sighed and turned to them. "And none of the mages made it out?" He asked, and Arvas shook his head. "General Tullius isn't going to like any of this, we are barely holding together our wounded."

"He's here? The general, I mean." Hadvar asked, and surprise washed him like a bath of cold water when he also heard the Centurion say those words. _The Empire might have a chance in Skyrim after all._

"He is, and you're going to have to come with me to give your report." He said, and Arvas swallowed down a curse. This wasn't going to be good.

"Aye, sir." Arvas responded, already starting to steel himself to face his failure. The Centurion nodded before he turned and walked away while he followed, only to notice that Hadvar had stayed.

"Sir, with respect, may I stay to tend the wounded?"

The Centurion seemed to think about it, to which he responded, "Fine, I only need one of you to give the report." Arvas didn't want to, but he silently cursed Hadvar for leaving him with the wolves. He followed the Centurion deeper into the grief stricken road, where men, women and children rested and mourned. The sight once again filled him with anger against the dragon, but he quelled it down. It was of no use here.

They soon found the red canvas tent of the General's, which was guarded by the same escort he'd taken when they rode off to capture Ulfric. They were intimidating, covered in steel from head to toe, the crests on their helmets bearing the shape of a dragon as well as the engraving of Akatosh on their chest plate. Arvas mildly registered the irony of it. One of them nodded to the Centurion, who turned to face Arvas.

"Wait just a moment." He said, before entering the tent. Arvas stood outside, waiting with the guards who seemed to ignore him. He wished he could do the same, but he couldn't help but inspect their armor. It was far from the traditional legionary armor, with black plates rich in dragon-shaped ornaments and a spear whose tip was the sigil of Akatosh itself, with the wings being fashioned as the tip of the spear. He briefly looked at his own armor that now seemed mundane and _boring_ when compared to them, and wondered if their armor was all just for looks and weren't made to withstand the stab of a sword or spear. Arvas snorted, and turned towards the road where the ex-townsfolk resided. Whether it was effective or not, the flames and powers the dragon unleashed on them made no difference.

"Alright, come in." he heard, and Arvas quickly turned to face the Centurion who had opened the tent flap for him. He nodded, entering the tent and spotting General Tullius writing on a makeshift desk.

"General." He said, standing at attention. The general stopped writing and glanced at him briefly, then did a double take. His eyes widened a fraction and he dropped the quiver at the desk, before looking over at Arvas's side and nodded. He heard the tent flaps moving and could only guess that the Centurion left them.

"Vitelius, I heard you and Captain Scinon were killed at the block." Tullius said, standing. Arvas's own eyes widened at the statement, and a shiver crept up his spine when the images returned.

"Captain Scinon did die, sir." He responded, focusing on the General, "Me and Hadvar made it out of the keep through an escape route underground."

"So that's how he did it." He heard Tullius mutter, and then sighed. Arvas could only guess he meant Ulfric. "We were this close to winning the war before winter settled in, and now we're going to have to fight on their terms."

"I'm sure we can overcome it, sir." Arvas said, trying to find a silver-lining to their situation, "We're more disciplined and better trained and them."

"I'm glad to hear your optimism, Vitelius, but optimism alone won't win us the war. We have to reassess our situation now that the rebels seem to have a dragon." Tullius pointed out and Arvas eyes once again widened, taken by surprise at the mere idea that the rebels gained a legendary creature as an ally.

"Do you really think the dragon is on their side, sir?" he asked, not entirely believing it.

"It's just a theory, but between you and me," his voice came low as he stepped forward, "I'm not sure our elven friends are entirely innocent in this." It was then that Arvas remembered them, on horseback and speaking with the general, just before the attack.

"Sir, what were they doing on Helgen?" Arvas asked, his face turned to a scowl. The general snorted and licked his lips as he stepped back.

"The Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen, was berating me about not having a trial." General Tullius said, and if he had been another man, Arvas was sure he'd been rolling his eyes. "But I'm sure they were trying to buy time for the Jarl to escape. No one benefits from the war other than them."

"So enemies on all sides then." Arvas remarked, and then Tullius turned towards the desk, where he sat and scribbled on the parchment.

"Not quite, I have a new mission for you." He said as he folded the letter and stamped it, before presenting it to Arvas. "I need this sent to the Jarl of Whiterun; it's a warning about the dragon." Arvas nodded and stepped forward to grab it. "Goodwill goes a long way, and I'm hoping that he will join us against Ulfric."

"I thought these Jarls already declared their allegiances." He said as he stashed the letter in a pouch. The land of Skyrim had been split in two by their kings as they squabbled over who should be the next High King. The east, commonly called the Old Holds, support Ulfric Stormcloak, the man who murdered the previous High King and is now a criminal in the righteous eyes of the Empire.

"Jarl Balgruuf hasn't taken any sides, but I reckon he'll soon change his mind." He explained, and his brows furrowed, "Take any supplies, men, and horses you need, but pack light. The road north's a long one and I'll rather break the news before Ulfric does. You're dismissed."

Arvas bumped his chest and bowed slightly, before turning to leave. No mention of his failure in killing Ulfric Stormcloak was said, and Arvas could only sigh in relief when the tent flap fell behind him. The Centurion had left, but Hadvar was still here, talking with a group of refugees and giving assurances.

"Hadvar!" he called, and he saw the Nord bid farewell to the refugees and turn walk towards him.

"How did it go? Latrine duty for the year?" he asked with crossed arms, but the smile he had did not reach his eyes.

"Worse, errand boy." Arvas said with a shake of his head as he tapped on the pouch of his belt.

"There are worse fates."

"Aye, and I'm bringing you with me." That brought Hadvar's brows upwards as he uncrossed his arms. "I'm a stranger to this land, and I need a guide."

"You don't need to convince me I'll go. I'm guessing the General wants us to go to Solitude?"

"Whiterun." He corrected, "Their king… or Jarl has to be warned about the dragon."

"It's Jarl, not king." Hadvar said, turning to walk further down the road that sloped downwards. "I know the way, in fact I grew up in the hold."

"Good. Anything we should expect on the way?" Arvas asked as he followed. The roads were becoming more dangerous throughout the Empire, from creatures long abandoned by their Daedra masters, to the savage animals that inhabit the hills and mountains. Arvas had heard of the sabre cats that roamed the grasslands and tundra of Skyrim that could run you down as easily as they do with deer and foxes, not to mention wolves too.

"Other than wolves, nothing deadly." He reassured, nearing a supply wagon that was guarded by soldiers. "How are your wounds doing?"

"Still prickly, but a health potion might overdo it. These people need it more than I do." Arvas said as he brought a hand to his leg. "But I can still fight."

"As if anything's going to stop you from fighting." He remarked, and then stopped in front of a soldier who asked him of his business. Arvas came to stand beside him as he showed the sealed letter to the guard, who in turn let them pass into the wagon. "It'll take us the rest of the day

to climb down this mountain, give or take, and Riverwood's about a half a day's travel from there." Hadvar supplied as he grabbed his satchel and started to stuff it with supplies.

"You might want to shorten that down. We're going on horseback." Arvas said, opening small wooden boxes and finally finding one containing green vials. He grabbed one and took a swig from it, tasting the nothingness at first, and steeling himself for the terrible after-taste that came. Once it did, he forcefully drank the rest of it down, using sheer will to avoid fingering inside his mouth to puke it all out. It didn't take long before he felt a second wind coming up and a crystal clear sense of his surroundings.

When he grabbed a spare satchel and began to fill it with provisions, he spoke to Hadvar. "Did you travel a lot around here? You seem to know your way here."

"I did, back when I was very young." He seemed somber as he said it, sad. "I… had a friend back in Riverwood, and we would often travel to Helgen to visit a relative of his. Though most of the time it was to get away from our village and get drunk on mead somewhere else, even if it was far away."

"I'm sure you can see him again once we reach Riverwood then." Arvas told Hadvar

"I don't think I will." They grabbed their supplies in silence, Arvas not wanting to prod at wounds that were not his own. He shouldered his baggage, and went to the horses that had been tied to a nearby tree, and soon after they set off down the mountainside road. If nothing truly dangerous happened, then the travel might actually be pleasant.

* * *

The valley's coldness was short of that of the Pale Pass, but it was definitely more welcome to him. It was the beginning of the month of Frostfall, and the mountains surrounding the valley were already tipped with snow, but the ground here was still green and shiny with the morning dew. The road ran parallel with the river and they'd been riding north for the better part of the morning towards the village Hadvar called Riverwood.

It was strange, how Helgen now seemed like a dream, or rather a nightmare. But even then, there were still the signs of its destruction on themselves. The ash, soot and blood that stained the leather of his armor, the fabric of his riding breeches, the steel of their swords, and their own skin. Arvas didn't even want to think what they probably smelled like.

They'd been riding for the better part of the day since dawn, and he idly wondered where that damned dragon went. It couldn't have been with the rebels, and the more he thought of it, the more he agreed with General Tullius that it was in league with the Thalmor. They were powerful mages, and it was said that it was them that brought back Masser and Secunda, moons revered by the Khajiit in the dry lands of Elsweyr. If they could do such feats, then why not also bring back the dragons?

"Hey, don't brood yourself to death over there." Hadvar quipped, bring Arvas out of his thoughts.

"I'm just enjoying the scenery." He lied, bringing his head up to look at the river beside the road and ignoring the flush of red creeping in on his face.

"Oh, I'm sure your horse's mane is a great scene to look at."

"Fine then, since you're my guide in this land, show me a great sight!" he demanded with a fake stern voice.

"It would be my pleasure." Hadvar said mockingly, pointing high towards the mountains to the west. Arvas looked up towards the side of the valley, and there he saw an enormous black structure that sat near the peaks, with pillars that protruded out of the stone and formed angular arches at the top. His eyes widened, as he took in the scope of the building. "That's Bleak-Falls Barrow," he elaborated, "There are many like it on Skyrim, and Riverwood sits directly under its shadow. We're not far now."

"I guess I'm used to the elven ruins in Cyrodiil." Arvas responded, remembering the white-as-snow pillars and arches that dotted his home province. The ancient elves were masters in their craft. "I'm guessing these are the dwarves?"

"No, men." Hadvar said in a chuckle, and Arvas was taken by surprise.

"Really? I thought the dwarves did the same thing."

"They do, but this one's a Nord barrow. Ancient too, back when there were still native elves in Skyrim and Cyrodiil." Hadvar seemed to sober up, as he spoke next with a shudder. "That place used to give me nightmares when I was young. Have you ever fought the undead?"

"I have. A necromancer was wreaking havoc inside a crypt back in Arvil once. My century was tasked in retaking it." It had been bloody, and they'd lost a lot of men just to kill one man. The young centurion had been relieved of duty when nobody could get him to talk again.

"Well, the dead in Skyrim never rest in these barrows. Most of the time they wake and attack anyone who's managed to slip inside. An adventurer that tried his luck came back to Riverwood telling stories about them. Haven't slept well afterwards."

A sign had been nailed to a tree, and in it said the name _Riverwood_.

"We're in the Whiterun Hold now. Let me do the talking, I may know the guards."

Like Helgen, the dense forest stopped at a certain point, stumps replacing them as the short walls of the village called Riverwood appeared. But these walls weren't made by Imperial hands, as they were supported by wooden beams and the top of the walls were covered in tiled roofs. There were banners hanging beside the entrance, a white canvas bearing a golden horse head with a braided mane. The gates were open, but the sight of the spearmen standing at guard made Arvas tense. They looked just like the Stormcloak militia.

His hand fell to the pommel of his sword at his scabbard as they approached, but he soon blew the air out of his nose to force himself to calm. It wouldn't do them well for him to look threatening, and so he blinked hard before he truly looked at them.

Where the sash was a stark blue on Ulfric's militia, the men standing at guard wore amber over a shirt made out of iron scales and a mail tunic that lay underneath it. Their round shields that also bore the horsehead were lain against the wall, while they held their closed helmets in hand and a spear in the other. Their helmets were a peculiar thing, with a mask covering the entirety of the face and only with two slits to see through. Arvas briefly wondered how they could see anything at all with those helmets and prayed that they did not use them in battle.

"Halt there." One of them said, a man with long and curly black hair and a beard that was peppered with grey and was braided in two. He seemed to regard at Hadvar with suspicion while the other retreated to get his shield. "What's the Legion's business here?" he demanded.

"We've a message for the Jarl of Whiterun from General Tullius. His eyes only." Hadvar said, his voice high so that it may carry to the men stationed atop the walls.

"Is that so? I guess I'm going to have to break the bad news to your poor uncle that you're not stopping by." The guard said with a smile on his face, showing crooked teeth.

"Don't worry, I am staying for the night Bjar." He laughed. "Unless the Empire is no longer welcome in the Hold?"

"This is your home, I can't kick you out of it." Bjar said as he leaned heavily on his spear.

"Thank you. I'm sure the captain won't be bothered by this at all." Hadvar responded as he gently led his horse inside the gate.

"He's probably already drunk at his office, so I figure he won't notice." The guard said at last, and when Arvas passed he nodded at the man with his best smile.

The village of Riverwood was simple Nord village, with most of its buildings being made out of logs and having thick thatched roofs. It wasn't like the Imperial towns Arvas had protected and lived in, with bricked walls and tiled roofs that could protect against the elements without issue, but it seems the Nords were as conservative as they are proud. The sole paved street ran straight ahead, with the rest of the paths that branched off from the road being made of beaten earth, which gave a clue of the village's origins. It was born and had grown around the millennia-old road. They were walking through the mingling villagers when a woman cried out.

"A dragon! I saw a dragon!" she yelled, and Arvas looked to the skies with a heavily beating heart. His breaths came ragged as he searched the clouds and the mountains, seeking a black shape that would bring fire and death, but nothing came. His horse did not panic nor jump, nor where there any roars in the distance. He lowered his head towards the origin of the sound, and saw an elderly woman in the porch of her house who looked towards the mountains with wild eyes. A young man immediately came to her and the villagers began to gather around.

"Mother, please, stop this." The man said, grabbing her arm only for her to bat him away.

"It was as big as the mountain and as black as night!" she said to the crowd in front of her house's vegetable garden. She pointed above their heads with a hand. "It flew right over the barrow!"

"No no, there are no dragons!" He yelled towards the crowd, exasperated. "Mother, go inside the house, now!"

"This is serious. The Jarl must be warned." Arvas said as he spurred his horse deeper into the village and Hadvar followed, leaving the mother and son to loudly argue. The exit was at the other end of the village, and Arvas noted that there was no wall on that side.

"We do, but the day's about to end. You don't want to be torn apart by wolves as soon as we step out of the village. My uncle Alvor works as a smith here. He can shelter us for the night."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to burden your family by sheltering soldiers from the Legion."

"It's no issue, really. I've come here on leave to visit them and it might just take a word of good deed to put you in their table." Arvas was left wild-eyed, and soon he felt his stomach give a growl.

"Fine then, I'm going to take you up on that offer." He responded as they continued down the road, and it didn't take long before they reached the center of the village.

"Uncle Alvor!" he called when they reached the village's smithy, a single wooden house with a workshop adjacent to it. The workshop lacked walls, and instead seemed like an extended porch on the house.

"Hadvar, is that you boy?" The man in the forge asked with a raised voice as he abandoned his work and leaned on the wooden thicket of the porch. He was a burly man, thick necked with straw-colored hair that reached his shoulders and a full fair beard, a stark difference to Hadvar's chestnut hair and small beard. He unfastened the belt that held his dark leather apron and removed the garment as he stepped out of the working area. When Hadvar dismounted, he was crushed in what seemed like the tightest hug Arvas had ever seen. They stood there for a moment before they parted, "What are you doing here?" his eyes widened as he seemed to see Hadvar for the first time, "Shor's bones, what happened to you boy?"

"Not out here, can we go inside?" he said in a low voice, and his uncle seemed to recoil just slightly.

"You aren't in any trouble, are you?" The man named Alvor asked warily, and Arvas couldn't blame the man. The Empire had punishments for hiding any rebels or traitors, most of which include death.

"No trouble, we just need shelter for the night before we move on. We're under orders to go to Whiterun." He reassured, stepping back to let his uncle think.

"I see, very well, go on ahead inside. I'll finish up on the forge and see you inside." This time, he turned to see Arvas, "And who is this?"

"This is Arvas, he's a comrade and my friend. In fact, he's saved my life." Hadvar said before Arvas could open his mouth.

"Is that so, well, any friend of Hadvar is a friend of mine! Sigrid must be preparing supper by now, so head on inside."

"Thank you uncle." Hadvar responded, and they both walked towards the house before they parted near the entrance. Arvas removed his helmet and ran a hand through his greasy short hair as Hadvar opened the door to let him in. As he entered, he immediately breathed in the mouth-watery smell of a spiced stew being brewed. A woman was hunched over a pot that lay suspended over the chimney, with a hazelnut hair that was tied in a tail, and wearing a long white tunic and a maroon apron that hugged her close in thanks to the brown waist cincher. He removed his eyes off of her when she turned at the sound of them entering, and greeted Hadvar with a smile.

"Hadvar? By Ysmir, it's good to see you. I did not expect to see you yet with the war against the Stormcloaks!" She said as the man received another hug from her.

"It's good to see you too, aunt Sigrid!" Hadvar said with a smile as he returned the hug, "but I won't stay for long. We're just here to rest for the night before we move on to the city."

"We?" She asked, now seeing Arvas. "Is this a friend of yours?

"He is. We're heading for Whiterun tomorrow."

"Whiterun? Oh, you're on a mission. I had figured that you were on leave." She sounded disappointed as she said it.

"I don't think we're going to get one soon." Hadvar said solemnly, and the door behind them opened. Arvas turned and saw Alvor ushering in a girl.

"Why aren't you both seated? Come!" he beckoned, showing them to the table. After they'd been seated, they were served Sigrid's vegetable and rabbit stew on wooden bowls and barley bread to accompany it. It had been after when they'd finished when they began to speak.

"A dragon? You haven't been dealing with any of those cat people, have you boy?"

"Believe me uncle, I wish I had been under Skooma and mistaken an Argonian for a dragon, but it wasn't just a mere lizard that burned Helgen."

"He speaks right," Arvas spoke up. "Nothing we threw at it seemed to hurt it. Arrows, javelins, even destruction spells didn't seem to faze it."

"Gods… I then must thank you for saving Hadvar."

Arvas laughed, "I fear he lied to you. It was he that saved me."

"Was it big?" The girl spoke up suddenly and animatedly, and Arvas blinked. He'd forgotten about the girl altogether. "Did it breathe fire?"

"Hush now, Dorthe." Her mother admonished, a scowl on her face. "I'm sorry if the questions bothered you."

"No, not at all. But I'll rather not speak about it Dorthe, alright? Maybe later." She pouted, and crossed her arms. The girl, Dorthe, was the spitting image of her mother but with the hair of the father, and yet, she looked queer. Her arms were thick, and not with fat, while her face was wind chafed.

"So, Dorthe, do you play a lot with the children in Riverwood?" he proved, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Not much, I mostly help father with the forge. I want to be a blacksmith like him some day!" She proclaimed, and Arvas found himself smiling at the girl. Rarely did he ever see a tomboy, and any female smith he'd seen in the Legion had been orcs. Alvor's laughed gently, but Arvas noticed Sigrid's mild scowl on her face.

"Next thing I know, she'll be in Whiterun making Skyforge Steel." Alvor jested, yet he seemed proud of her daughter.

"I'm sure her steel will be fine and strong, like that of the Legion's." Arvas said, and he noticed that his belly was warm and his eye lids felt heavy. He stifled a yawn. "Pardon me, I'm tired."

"It's of no issue." Alvor said, then turned to her daughter. "Dorthe, show him to the bed in the workshop below."

"Of course pa'. Come mister!" she said as she hopped of her chair and Arvas did the same to follow her.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Hadvar." He said as he left them and followed Dorthe towards the other side of the room, where the floor gave way to a flight of stairs that led downwards. Downwards, he found the workshop that was with barrels, chests and shelves that laiy about along with a long table that was strewn with tools and different items made of many metals. The girl led him to a bed laid in a corner.

"Sometimes father sleeps here when he's working on something important, like bracelets and rings. Although one time mother became furious with him and he slept here for a week." The girl said while Arvas took a look at the table. Indeed, there were some parts of copper, brass, and even silver in various shapes on the table, with holes that were seemed to be vacant for gems.

"I see, thank you Dorthe." He said and she nodded, only to run towards the stairs and left him. He shook his head as he unshouldered his satchel and set down his helmet at the foot of the bed. He'd then removed his sword belt and unlaced his leather armor to set it aside, its small, yet numerous steel plates that lined the insides of the vest gleaming by the candles in the room. Once he'd been liberated of all armaments and protection, he laid on the bed of straw. He'd only blinked once when he laid in it, but his eyes did not open again.


End file.
